


alone in this meltdown

by dancingonmoonbeams



Series: Seashells and Stars [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Annie Cresta-centric, Annie-Centric, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Healing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, lowercase title for the aesthetic, rated t for hunger games-typical violence and talk of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingonmoonbeams/pseuds/dancingonmoonbeams
Summary: Annie Cresta never planned to be in the Hunger Games. She didn’t expect to survive, either. As she returns to District Four, she’s still fighting to leave the arena behind.
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair
Series: Seashells and Stars [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984061
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	alone in this meltdown

**Author's Note:**

> Not me having writer’s block for weeks and then writing 10,000+ words about Annie Cresta… Title is from [Diagnosis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAX0rFrkJMA) by Alanis Morissette which really reminds me of Annie and inspired me to do this look into her mind when she came back from the arena.
> 
> This can be read as backstory for my multi-chapter fic [we were meant to stay afloat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25922986/chapters/63004798), but it is pre-canon so it can also be read as a standalone. 
> 
> Content warning for canon-typical violence and thoughts of death/dying.

Annie Cresta never planned to be in the Hunger Games. She certainly didn’t train for it, preferring to spend her afternoons digging her feet into the sand and looking for ocean treasures rather than training in the school gymnasium with her glory-hungry classmates. She didn’t understand their rush, couldn’t see the glory in signing yourself up to kill or be killed. Most of the kids who went didn’t come back. When they did come back, they were never the same.

Even the victors from the other districts gave that impression when they came on their tours. Annie would stand in the crowd with her sister, Fiona, studying the face of the person on the stage, comparing it to the person they’d been in the arena. A feral girl with matted hair and blood dripping from her hands after twisting a knife into her final opponent’s stomach became a demure young woman in a frilly dress, speaking in a high voice about strength and unity and the graciousness of Panem while Annie’s stomach twisted with hunger. A strong young man spoke about his gratitude to the Capitol, his features smooth and chiseled with no sign of the animalistic fear that flashed in his eyes when he beat another tribute’s head in with a rock.

No, Annie never planned to be in the Games, but she should have known these things don’t happen according to plan. After all, she didn’t plan for her father to leave, for her mother to disappear into a bottle and slowly waste away until she and Fiona only had each other. She didn’t plan for her older sister to become her caretaker, constantly fighting for the two of them to survive. And on that morning of the reaping, she didn’t plan to hear her own name called, for no one to volunteer to take her place, and to find herself on that stage, looking out at the only place she’d ever called home and knowing she’d likely never see it again.

What she also didn’t plan was surviving, if you could call it that. And yet here she was, back in District Four, in a house far too big for her and Fiona that somehow still managed to suffocate her within its walls. It’s been two weeks and she’s barely left the house, terrified of what she’ll find when she steps outside.

She hasn’t spoken to anyone since the Games. Not to the doctors in the Capitol, not to the inexplicably cheerful Caesar Flickerman, not to Fiona, and certainly not to Finnick, her mentor who is still a puzzle she can’t quite solve. She finds herself remembering the old story her mother used to tell about the mermaid who gave up her voice so she could walk on land and find the man she loved. Maybe that’s what happened, she thinks to herself. Maybe there’s a sea witch out there holding Annie’s voice in an enchanted shell, and she just has to hold up her end of the bargain to get it back, only she doesn’t know what she promised in return.

She’s only been to the beach once. She went by herself, slipping out of the house one morning while Fiona was still asleep and following the path, her legs shaky as her mind filled with echoes of waterlogged screams. She tried to breathe in the ocean air, the comforting salt, but all she could smell was the sharp chemical scent of the arena, the warm District Four breeze replaced by the icy wind that whipped as she fought for her life, the taste of blood mixed with salt water choking her as she gasped for air. As she got closer to the beach she felt her limbs grow weak. Blackness covered her vision and she crumpled to the ground, unable to separate the familiar waters of home from the memories of the arena still fresh in her mind. She retreated back to her house and collapsed in the hallway, pressing her hands to her ears to drown out the screams.

Trapped in her own memories, she paces the house, wearing out a pattern in the wooden floors as she wanders through the empty rooms, barely noticing her surroundings. She can sense Fiona’s frustration, her fear that the Annie she knew is lost forever, her uncertainty of what to do to pull her back from the brink, but Annie can’t bring herself to snap out of it.

When she does stop moving, the cries and screams fill her head and she finds herself clapping her hands over her ears, desperately trying to block out the noise that only gets louder the more she fights it. She feels the water roaring around her, chilling her to the bone and freezing the air in her lungs as she fights to breathe, gasping for air and wondering why she’s bothering to fight so hard. All she can taste is blood mixed with salt and she screams silently, rocking side to side on the floor of the house and waiting for the water to pull her under. 

Fiona finds her in the entryway of their house and tries to pull her up but Annie lashes out like a wounded animal, shrieking at the contact and whipping her head around, eyes wide with fear. She vaguely notices Fiona moving away before she gives in to the water, drowning in the sound of screams inside her mind. Annie doesn’t know how much time has passed when she hears a soft voice calling her name through the water. She lifts her head, hands still clasped firmly over her ears, and tries to find the source, blinking slowly against the brightness filling her vision. 

_Finnick,_ her memory supplies when his face comes into focus, sunlight framing his bronzed curls and sparkling off his sea-green eyes, making him look like one of the ancient gods her mother used to tell stories about. The comparison is enough to pull her out of her vision for a moment and she hears herself laugh lightly before closing her eyes again, her mentor’s kind face appearing behind her eyelids. She feels him settle down next to her - not touching her, like Fiona tried to, but sitting just close enough that she knows he’s still there. She opens her eyes again and looks to the side to see him tying knots in a length of rope, his worried eyes flitting to hers with every few turns of the rope. 

Curiosity gets the better of her and she slowly lowers her hands from her ears and lifts her head, keeping her knees pulled against her chest to make herself as small as possible. She focuses on the steady movement of Finnick’s hands and the intricate twists and turns of the rope as he deftly manipulates complicated knots, tying and untying them so quickly Annie wonders if it’s some trick of the light. If he notices she’s watching, he doesn’t let on, simply focusing on his rope and working at it silently. She notices him taking slow, deep breaths and finds herself mirroring him, the screams in her head growing softer until they’re replaced by the sound of her own steady breathing. 

Finnick pauses to reach into his pocket to wordlessly pull out another length of rope that he passes it to her before going back to his knots. She watches him untie the last knot and start a new one, but this one seems less complicated than the others, with fewer twists and turns. Without realizing it, her hands follow his movements, manipulating her own length of rope until it matches his, then undoing her work and starting again. She focuses on the coarse feeling of the rope between her fingers, pulling the knots tightly and feeling a twinge of pride when she’s able to untie and re-tie the knot without following Finnick’s lead.

As her fingers work the rope, she steals a glance at the man next to her, trying to reconcile this side of Finnick with the man she’s seen on television, the Capitol darling who is always quick with a flirtatious look and a dazzling smile. He is nothing like she expected - his bravado and charm giving way to something more tender, more fragile, a part of him she guesses he lets very few people see. She can sense a sadness in him too, sees it in the way his smile doesn’t always reach his eyes, the droop of his shoulders when he thinks no one is watching.

When Annie learned the famous Finnick Odair would be her mentor, she assumed they would have the few required training sessions but that she would otherwise be left to her own devices while he floated around the Capitol, tending to his many admirers. Instead he seemed to throw himself into her training, asking questions about her strengths, her weaknesses, anything she could think of that would help her win.

In front of the cameras, he was gregarious, teasing, and charming, throwing a wink to the camera lens and twisting his lips into a mischievous smile. But behind closed doors, he seemed to relax into himself - his humor more self-deprecating, his charm still present but unassuming, preferring to let others talk while he listened and soaked in their company. In training, he was intensely focused on Annie and more than once she got the sense that he was using her as a distraction, running away from some sort of darkness that threatened to overtake him if he stopped moving long enough to let it. She's beginning to understand that better now. 

The night before the Games started, he had sat with her in the sitting room of their suite in the Training Center, neither of them speaking besides the occasional tidbit of advice from Finnick, last-minute wisdom he tried to impart about finding water or building a shelter or how to fashion a weapon out of commonplace objects. She had nodded along, lost in her own thoughts until he pulled her out of her reverie with a surprising question.

_“Do you want to win?” he asks bluntly, his face obscured in shadow so Annie can’t read his expression._

_“I don’t know,” she answers, something about the late hour and the darkness bringing the truth to the surface. She remembers watching victors in District Four and noticing the weight they carried even after the Games were over. She wonders if any of them wish they’d died in the arena - if Finnick has ever wished the same. As he leans forward into the moonlight, Annie is suddenly struck by how young he looks. Finnick has been a larger than life figure in their District since he was only fourteen and it’s easy to forget he’s just barely out of childhood. Watching him, she gets the sense that he was forced to grow up much faster than he should have and feels a momentary pang of loss for the carefree boy he must have been before he made this journey through the Games._

_“I want you to win,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper so Annie has to lean closer to make out his words. “I want you to make it out.” It's a desperate plea and something stirs inside Annie as she meets his gaze, his green eyes focused on hers with an intensity that makes her breath catch in her throat._

_“Okay,” she nods, her voice cracking. “I’ll try.”_

_He nods in reply and Annie watches his face closely, trying to read his expression. There is something like grief in his eyes, a weariness in his posture as if he's already lived a hundred lifetimes. Something takes root in Annie’s heart as she watches him, a spark of realization about what she is about to face, realization that she does want to make it out, if only to keep some of the grief out of Finnick’s eyes._

_“I’ll try,” she repeats, her voice growing stronger as their eyes meet and Annie feels something flow between them, something she can’t quite place or understand but that she wants desperately to hold on to._

Her fingers are starting to redden from the friction of the rope in her hands and she pauses, lifting a hand to examine the marks, seeing the fibers of the rope reflected in her skin.

“It’ll callus over if you keep at it,” Finnick says softly and she jumps, so used to the silence that even his quiet voice is a shock. “Sorry,” he adds, and she knows he means it. He holds out his hand, palm-up, and she notices patches of thickened skin from where she imagines he’s spent years working ropes into complicated knots. She sets her hands in her lap and twists the rope between her fingers, feeling it give way as she manipulates new knots into it. 

“I should go,” Finnick adds gently, and Annie thinks she hears hesitation in his voice. He stands slowly, pocketing his rope and moving toward the door. Annie stretches her legs and stands too, feeling the ache in her body from however long she spent curled up on the floor. As Finnick moves to leave, she holds out the rope he gave her but he waves her away. “Keep it,” he says with a small smile. “I have plenty.” She watches him walk to the door where he hesitates with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to look at her. “I can come back tomorrow, if you want,” he suggests, “We could go for a walk. Or just sit.”

Annie stares at him, clenching the rope tightly in her hands as she studies his face, noticing the dark circles under his green eyes and the nervous twist of his lips as he waits for her answer. Unable to voice her thoughts, she nods, the movement almost imperceptible but she knows he sees when his face breaks out into a boyish grin. 

“Okay,” he says, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Annie’s eyes follow him as he opens the door and crosses the garden, turning away from his house across the lane and following the path to the beach instead. She watches until he’s out of sight and begins to pace around the house again, tying and untying knots until her fingers are raw. 

The nightmares come again that night and she wakes with a start, the taste of blood lingering in her mouth. She reaches under her pillow and retrieves the length of rope Finnick gave her, her fingers moving automatically to form the now-familiar knots as she tries to shake the image of her beheaded district partner from her dream. It helps, a little. It gives her something else to focus on, something to feel besides the cold desperation of the arena, the water threatening to fill her lungs and take her under, the feeling that maybe she should just let it. Her mind wanders to Finnick, picturing his hands manipulating the rope with ease and wondering if he gets nightmares too.

\--

Finnick comes back the next day and she feels a strange sense of relief when she sees him, tension loosening from her body as he walks through the gate. When he asks if she wants to go for a walk, she hesitates, roaring water filling her ears and her breath coming in sharp gasps as she feels the icy cold start to spread through her veins. Finnick seems to sense her trepidation and shrugs, taking a seat on the steps of her porch instead. She follows his lead and sits across from him, feeling the sturdy wood railing against her back as she watches him, noticing the way the sun lights his bronze hair on fire, shadows falling over the sharp curve of his jaw. The corner of his mouth twitches up in a smile and he meets her gaze, the kindness in his eyes softening his face and reminding Annie again how young he is, how young they both are. 

He seems comfortable with the silence, something that surprises Annie. Before she met Finnick, she imagined his world was loud and busy, full of admirers and friends buzzing with gossip and conversation, hanging off his every word. She saw that side of him, in front of the cameras in the Capitol, but the more time she spends with him the more she suspects that was an act, that the real Finnick is someone closer to the man seated across from her, quick with a joke or a conversation but equally content in silence.

He pulls his length of rope from his pocket again and holds it up to her, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Annie nods, taking the piece he gave her from her own pocket and watching as he begins to weave the strands through his hands, demonstrating a more complicated twist than the one she’d mastered yesterday. She follows his movements, slowly at first but quickly getting the hang of it until she can tie and untie it without watching him, though she still steals glances, mesmerized by the quick lightness of his fingers. She’s not sure how much time has passed when Fiona appears at the garden gate, hesitating when she sees her sister isn’t alone. Finnick glances at Annie with a sheepish look and pockets his length of rope again, using the railing of the staircase to pull himself up as he gives Fiona a nod.

“See you tomorrow?” he asks Annie quietly, and she nods without thinking. He smiles softly and crosses the garden, murmuring a quiet greeting to Fiona before disappearing down the lane toward the beach. Annie watches him go again, already relaxed into this new routine they seem to have found themselves in. 

“Was he here all day?” Fiona asks, her voice pulling Annie from her reverie. Annie looks up at her sister where she stands in the spot Finnick had just occupied and nods, looking back down at the length of rope in her hands. She feels her shoulders tense under her sister’s expectations, unable to escape the worried looks Fiona throws her way when she thinks Annie isn’t watching. It’s been just the two of them for as long as Annie can remember, but she is suddenly aware of a widening gap between them, a chasm neither can cross as they try to settle back into a life Annie doesn’t recognize anymore. She stands and passes Fiona to go into the house, letting the door close behind her as she resumes her pacing around the empty rooms, feeling her sister’s worry and frustration follow her as she does.

Finnick is there again the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. It becomes routine, him appearing on her front porch and sitting with her, tying knots or just watching the leaves in the garden rustle in the breeze. Sometimes he brings food - pies and bread and pastries - and presents it to her sheepishly, watching her through his long lashes as he hands it to her, answering her unspoken question by simply saying “Mags.”

He speaks very little, saying hello and giving brief instruction as she works knots into her rope, but they spend most of the time in companionable silence. He’s the only person Annie has been around who seems genuinely okay with her silence - not trying to pressure her to speak but instead finding other ways to communicate. Annie starts to feel like he’s reading her mind, always able to interpret her movements or looks to understand what she’s unable to say. He usually stays until Fiona comes home, with a quick promise to return the next day before setting off towards the beach, where she thinks he spends most of his time. More than once when nightmares keep her from sleep, she sees him walking back up the lane in the dark of night, sometimes sitting outside of his house and looking up at the stars instead of going inside. She’s thought of going outside to join him, but stops herself, unsure if this arrangement they have only exists in the daylight.

About a week into the routine, Annie meets Finnick at her front gate, feeling strangely restless as she paces the garden. He raises his eyebrows slightly but otherwise doesn’t betray any surprise as she steps into the lane, feeling the gate click shut behind her. Annie takes a deep breath and tries to silence the roaring of water in her ears, feeling herself tremble as she takes slow steps forward. Finnick falls in step beside her, his presence a comfort at the back of her mind as she focuses on each step, willing herself to move forward against the fear that threatens to stop her in her tracks. 

She moves carefully down the lane, taking in the details of the Victors Village, each sight reminding her that she is home in District Four. She smells baking bread from someone’s house, mixed with the salty sharpness of seaweed that blows in from the ocean. She hears someone putting a hammer to a nail, the rhythmic banging matching the pace of her steps as she gets more confident. She’s reminded of when she and Fiona were younger and came across a birds’ nest on the beach, the newly hatched chicks blinking against the sunlight. She remembers watching one of the little creatures try to stand on wobbling legs, taking tiny steps as it chirped loudly for its mother. 

They make it to the end of the lane and Annie freezes in her tracks, the sight of the path that leads to the beach and the water beyond it threatening to pull her back into the arena. Her vision darkens and she begins to hear screams echoing in her mind, her blood freezing in her veins as she gasps for air, choking against the water that threatens to fill her lungs. She claps her hands over her ears and shakes her head, trying to drown out the sound.

She becomes aware of a presence at her side and hears a voice calling through the water, gentle and soft, nothing like the harsh screams and strangled cries that fill her mind. The voice is calling her name, gently, repeating it over and over as if trying to remind her of herself. Annie tries to catch her breath, letting the sound wash over her.

“Annie,” the voice is saying, “you’re safe.”

The voice keeps repeating those words and Annie slowly lowers her hands from her ears. She tastes salt on her tongue and realizes she’s crying, tears streaming silently down her face as she looks around wildly, trying to find the source of the sound. Her vision swims as her eyes land on Finnick, his brow furrowed in concern as he says her name, a twinge of desperation in his voice. 

“You’re safe,” he says again, and the word echoes in Annie’s mind. Safe. She’s not sure what that word means anymore. Safety is a luxury she lost when her name was called and she stood alone on that stage, staring out at the sea of faces and wondering if it was the last time she’d see them. 

Slowly, Finnick’s voice begins to replace the sounds in her head. The rushing of the water and the screams are still there but lower, as if she’s traveling away from them. She uses all of her energy to focus on Finnick, studying his eyes that are filled with grief and fear and something else she can’t name. She feels a warm breeze move through her hair and she shudders, releasing the cold grip of her memory and taking a deep breath, letting the smell of District Four fill her nostrils. 

“Okay?” Finnick asks quietly, moving as if to touch her arm but stopping himself, letting his hand hang between them. Annie furrows her brow, unsure how to answer. He searches her face and seems to find his own answer before he turns slightly, gesturing back up the lane toward the village. “We don’t have to do it today,” he says gently, waiting to see which way Annie will go. 

With great effort, Annie wills her feet to move and turns her back to the beach, stepping carefully along the path back toward her house, feeling her muscles relax as she gets away from the water. Tears flow anew as she realizes it’s a relief to be leaving the ocean behind and she curses internally, blaming the Games and the Capitol for taking away the one comfort she’s always been able to rely on. She resolves to fight it, to not let them take this from her too, to find a way to get back to the water and see that it’s not the same as the arena, it’s home. 

Finnick walks with her back to her house, neither of them speaking as they move slowly up the lane. When they reach her front door he hesitates, biting his lip as if he’s holding himself back from saying something. Annie is almost inside when he speaks.

“I couldn’t use fishing nets for months after I got back,” he says, and Annie turns with a questioning look. Finnick isn’t looking at her, his gaze unfocused as he looks over her shoulder. “I used nets in the arena. When I got back and picked one up it felt like I was right back in there. I couldn’t even look at them.”

Annie stands still, afraid any movement will make Finnick close himself back up again. Her heart races as she imagines fourteen-year-old Finnick, coming home from the Games to find that such a large piece of him had changed. She wants to ask why he’s telling her this, why he trusts her with such a vulnerable piece of himself, but instead she just watches him, waiting for him to say more. He brings his eyes back to meet hers and she feels a flow of understanding between the two of them as she sees her own pain and confusion reflected in his eyes. It’s so strong that she almost wants to look away, unsure she wants him to see her so clearly, but she holds his gaze.

“My brother noticed, and he took over the nets for a while. The rope was actually his idea,” Finnick says with a soft smile, reaching into his pocket for his ever-present length of rope. “It was something we did when we were kids to practice before our father would let us go out fishing with him. He thought it would help replace the arena memories.” Annie listens closely, hanging on his every word. She didn’t know he had a brother. He’s never mentioned him, nor his father. She feels a sinking feeling as her mind races to the next question, wondering why he’s never talked about them. 

“It worked,” he continues with a shrug, a sad smile on his lips as he looks earnestly at Annie. “There were more good memories than bad. I just had to remember them.” Annie doesn’t respond as his words sink in. She tries to recall a memory of the ocean, but the arena overshadows everything, the chemical smell permeating even her childhood memories of searching for seashells with Fiona, screams echoing over the sound of the gulls calling through the air. 

\--

Finnick keeps coming to see her every day and they start walking through the Victors Village, staying on the lane as Annie tries to work up the strength to visit the beach. As they walk she picks up seashells that litter the lane, dropped there by gulls or carried along on people’s feet as they travel back from the beach. She tucks them in her pockets and brings them home to line them up everywhere she can - the windowsills, the porch steps, the countertops - until they fill each room. Every time the memories from the arena start to pull her under she reaches for the shells, grasping one in her hand and picturing the calm waves of the ocean, turning the screams in her ears into the sound of gulls calling through the air. She commits each one to memory, studying the grooves and turns, the soft surfaces and rough edges, filling her mind with the feeling of home. She tries to tie each one to a memory, something from her youth when the beach was her safe place, steadily working to replace the arena in her mind. 

Each day she pushes herself to move closer to the water, jaw set in determination as she steels herself against the pain of the arena that floods her mind at the sight of the waves. She grips the shells in her hands, leaving marks in her skin, and repeats her memories until the arena fades and she turns to go home. The booming of cannons fades to the sound of laughter as she and Fiona build castles in the sand. She breathes deeply and fills her lungs with the warm salt air, chasing away the burning chemical smell of the arena.

All this time, Finnick watches, following her lead as she pushes herself further down the beach and waiting patiently when she hesitates, never rushing her or saying anything but providing his silent support. She wants to ask why he’s still spending time with her - as far as she knows, his role as mentor ended when the Games did - but she worries that if she brings it up he’ll leave and she doesn’t know if she could take it. 

He greets her each day with a simple hello or a comment about the weather and then they lapse into silence, but it never feels strained or uncomfortable, like they don’t need to speak to know what the other is thinking. She notices little things about him and files them away for later, like the way he always greets the other victors and asks how they are, the care he takes to keep pace with her without rushing her, and the spring in his step that grows the closer they get to the water. He seems to gather his energy from the ocean air and Annie would feel guilty about keeping him from the beach if he didn’t make it so clear that following her lead was never a burden. He always walks her to the door and says goodbye with a promise to return the next day, then travels back down the lane. She knows now that he’s usually going to see Mags before going to the beach, stopping by to see if she needs his help around the house. Mags will sometimes call to them from her porch when they pass by and Annie can see the love between her and Finnick and finds herself grateful that he has someone who cares for him so much.

It’s slow progress for Annie, building her courage to return to the water. There are some days when she can’t conjure up a positive memory and finds herself drowning again, pressing her hands to her ears as the screams take over. Those days drain her more than others and she can barely find the energy to take the steps up the lane to return home.

On one of the bad days, she returns home to find Fiona waiting on the front porch, watching as Finnick says a quiet goodbye before Annie crosses the garden and walks up the steps. Fiona doesn’t speak as Annie brushes past her, desperate to lie down even if it means the nightmares will come. As she reaches the end of the hallway she hears her sister’s voice and stops, ducking out of sight but listening for Fiona’s words.

“Finnick,” Fiona calls from the front porch. Annie watches as Finnick turns at the gate, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Can I ask you something?” Fiona asks quietly. Annie watches as Finnick walks back to the porch and stops at the bottom of the stairs. He must nod, because Fiona continues.

“Is she going to be okay?” Annie feels tears burn in her eyes at the pain in her sister’s voice, pain that she can’t share with Annie because Annie is lost to her, trapped in her own mind with no way to share the burden because Fiona won’t understand, she can’t understand. Annie closes her eyes so she won’t have to see Finnick’s face when he responds. He takes a long time to answer and Annie imagines the expression on his face, imagines the delicate crease in his brow, his lips turned down in a frown as he puzzles over his words.

“Okay means something different after the arena,” he tells Fiona quietly, “It’s hard to say.” 

“But I mean…” Fiona trails off, “I don’t know how to help her.” Annie hears movement, like Finnick has stepped onto the porch to comfort Fiona. 

“You can be there. When she’s ready, she’ll need you,” he says, and Annie hears Fiona breathe a shaky sob.

“Is it like this for everyone?” Fiona asks desperately. “After?” Annie crouches lower, feeling her sister’s pain in her own body.

“We all have baggage,” Finnick answers and Annie feels another pang as she remembers the sight of him pacing the lane in the middle of the night, as if trying to outrun his own ghosts. “It’s different for all of us.” 

“I just want my sister back,” Fiona says helplessly. Annie squeezes her eyes shut, feeling tears coming hot and fast as she wraps her arms around herself, wishing she could be who her sister needs her to be but not sure she even knows who that is anymore.

“She’s alive,” Finnick answers quietly. “That’s more than a lot of people get.” There’s an unmistakable pain in his voice and Annie wonders who put it there, wonders how many people Finnick Odair has lost and if that’s why he’s spending so much time trying to bring her back. She can’t bring herself to listen anymore and moves back toward her bedroom, closing the door noiselessly behind her. She slumps against the wood of the door and feels all of the energy drain from her body. She’s alive, he had said. She wonders why that doesn’t feel like a comfort.

\--

Annie wakes one morning with a sense of purpose, a feeling burning inside her telling her that today will be different. No nightmares came the night before and she hears gulls chattering outside her window as she marches through the house to the front door, pacing the porch with her eyes on the house across the lane. She’s only waiting for a few minutes before Finnick leaves his house and she sees his face break into a smile when he catches sight of her. She meets him at the gate, unsure when her determination will fade and wanting to take it as far as she can before it does. As always, Finnick falls into step beside her, lifting a hand to wave at Mags where she rocks in her chair on her front porch. If he notices something different in her mood today, he doesn’t say anything, just watches her our of the corner of his eye with an easy smile. 

She leads them to the end of the Victors Village, as far as she’s gone since the first day she tried to reach the water, and stops, her toes curled in the soft sand that marks the start of the beach as she contemplates her next move. She could turn back - this was far enough to go for today and she doesn’t want to push it - but as she thinks that she knows it’s not an option. She senses Finnick beside her but keeps her focus on the horizon as she takes a deep breath and steps carefully across the sand.

The wind rolls in off the ocean and tickles her cheeks, pushing her hair gently behind her and reminding her that this is home. It smells of salt and seaweed and sand and the air underneath the wind is warm, not ice that cuts to her bones. She listens to the seagulls calling to each other, the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks, the seals barking in the distance and hears no screams, no cries for help, just the sounds she’s found comfort in since she was a little girl.

Before she knows it she’s crossing the sand, her eyes on the horizon as the ocean stretches out in front of her, its deep shades of blue and green shifting with the movement of the waves. Sunlight dances on the water and Annie recalls the stories she and Fiona used to tell, stories of fairies and mermaids and other creatures who swam below the water, bathing in sunlight and catching it in their jewels. She reaches the edge of the water where the waves kiss the shore and stops, breathing deeply as she sinks her toes into the sand, feeling the cool velvety texture beneath her feet. She hears the wave coming before she sees it and she gasps when the water laps at her toes, foam rising around her ankles as the wave moves in and then rushes back out to sea. 

She tilts her head back and laughs, the sun warm on her face and tears flowing down her cheeks as she stands ankle-deep in the water, feeling pieces of herself fall back into place with every wave that washes over her. This is home. This is where she’s always been safe, where she could always go when she felt things too strongly, when she was overwhelmed by all the things that were out of her control. The ocean is hers, and she will not let the Capitol take it away from her. 

Annie leans down to dip her hands into the water and watches the waves move over them, feeling flecks of sand and seaweed slip through her fingers. She digs her fingers into the sand and brings them up again, laughing as the wet sand slips through her fingers and drops back into the water with a splash. A flash of white catches her eye and she reaches down again, pulling up a perfect spiral shell, flecked with pink and tan along its many curves. She turns to find Finnick and sees him standing back on the dry sand, watching her with an inscrutable expression. She splashes through the water towards him and holds out her hand, beckoning for him to join her.

Finnick steps into the water with her, the waves coming up to his ankles as he watches her closely, a look of awe in his eyes that makes Annie blush. She holds the shell out to him and places it in his outstretched hand.

“For you,” she says, watching as his eyes widen and he lets out a surprised sound. He holds the shell up to examine it and grins, his entire face lighting up as if he is the sun reflecting off the water.

“Thank you,” he says, wading deeper into the water to where she stands and looking at her curiously. Annie looks out at the horizon, breathing deeply and soaking in the warmth of the sun on her skin, feeling free for the first time in a long time. She knows this isn’t the end and that she may never truly leave the arena behind, but right now, with the salt in the air and sand at her feet, she feels alive.

\--

It gets easier after that day at the beach, but she still can’t leave the arena behind completely. There are days when she can barely move, immobilized by the memories, seeing visions of her district partner’s eyes, wide and unseeing as bright red blood flows from his neck. She still hears the screams and cannons in the back of her mind but gets better at silencing them, using all of her energy to focus on the present moment, covering her ears when the sounds become too much.

Even after Annie gets her voice back, she still can’t bring herself to say more than a few words to Fiona. She fears she’s let the distance between them grow too far for her to ever make up the difference, that she and her sister will be stuck tiptoeing around each other for the rest of their lives. Annie can see the disappointment and pain in Fiona’s face when she looks at her and all of her explanations and apologies die on her tongue before she can voice them out loud. She desperately wants to talk to her sister, the only person in the world who really knew her before the Games, thinking that if she can just talk to her she might be reminded of who she was. That version of herself feels so far away now, like a distant cousin who bears a passing resemblance but shares nothing in common. She can’t face showing Fiona all of her scars, so she hides away instead, overwhelmed with guilt every time she catches her sister’s eye.

Spending time with Finnick helps. They keep up their routine, taking walks to the beach or sitting on her porch as he teaches her new knots to practice. They start to talk, slowly at first, Annie’s voice still tentative after weeks of disuse. Finnick listens intently, never batting an eye when she trails off mid-thought and then comes to, unsure what she had been trying to say. She tells him about her life before the Games, her childhood with Fiona, the stories their mother used to tell them about the ocean and its magic. 

Finnick shares things about his life, though she gets the sense that he’s holding back, like there is a part of himself he can’t let her see. She learns about his family, his brother and father, and feels a lump in her throat when she hears the care in his voice as he talks about his upbringing. They avoid talking about the Games or the Capitol, keeping conversations firmly planted in District Four, and Annie isn’t sure if it’s for her benefit or his. Her Victory Tour looms closer and she knows they’ll need to discuss it eventually, but any time the thought crosses her mind the water roars in her ears again and she feels herself sinking back under, terrified at the thought of re-living the arena in front of crowds of people. 

Finnick takes her around the Victors Village and introduces her to the other victors and she realizes she knows little about them, only what she’d seen growing up in District Four and watching them on television. They’re all incredibly kind to her, talking to her gently and taking care not to mention anything that could trigger the memories. She feels a strange connection to each of them, despite practically being strangers. There’s a shared understanding that flows through the Village and Annie is reminded of something she overheard Finnick tell Fiona, that everyone who comes out of the arena has some kind of baggage. She notices little things each of them do to cope, like Finnick and his rope.

There’s Leif, tall and muscular, only a few years older than Finnick, who spends all day painting his house a deep ocean blue. Kai says very little when Finnick introduces him to Annie, but appears on her doorstep the next day with a tray of fish cakes, still warm from the oven. Catalina appears in a flurry of activity, her graying hair pulled back from her face in a bun as her two children run circles around her, interrupting their conversation to ask permission to run down to the beach. Annie loves seeing the children and their carefree antics, smiling as they rush past her and race to the beach, splashing water at each other as soon as they reach the ocean. They remind her of when she and Fiona were young, and Catalina beams when Annie tells her that.

Then there is Mags, of course. Everyone in District Four knows Mags - she’s their oldest victor and one of the friendliest, always visiting town to do her shopping and to catch up on the latest news of the District. Now Annie joins Finnick on some of his visits to Mags, though not always, sensing that there are things he talks with her about that are too much for Annie to hear. The first time she goes with him she has a brief sense of worry that Mags will turn her away, but any fear is dissipated the moment Mags opens the door and pulls Annie into a hug, her embrace making Annie feel like a child again, safe in the comfort of her arms. 

It’s Mags who gives Annie the courage to talk with Fiona. They’re sitting in the kitchen while Finnick hammers some boards on the porch, repairing a step that he claimed was crooked that Mags and Annie could see no fault with. Mags is showing Annie how to bake the traditional District Four seaweed rolls, her elbows deep in flour, when she asks Annie how Fiona is doing. Annie tenses, unable to admit that she still can barely face her sister, can barely look her in the eyes because she doesn’t want to see the pain she’s causing her. Mags seems to sense her hesitation and pauses what she’s doing, wiping her hands clean on a cloth before reaching out to touch Annie’s hand.

“It may seem easier to shut people out,” she says slowly, “but it will only hurt more.” 

Annie feels tears prick in her eyes and she looks away from Mags’s intense stare. 

“We all need people,” Mags continues, going back to her mixing bowl. “You need her and she needs you.”

“I don’t know…” Annie trails off, running her finger through the dusting of flour on the countertop. Mags waits patiently for her to continue. “She wants me to be who I was.”

Mags takes her time to answer, carefully kneading the bread dough and separating it into pieces. “Show her who you are now,” she says simply, and Annie holds herself back from saying she doesn't know who she is anymore, that there are days she looks in the mirror and hardly recognizes herself. Beneath that is a thought that tugs at the back of her mind, a question of what if - what if Fiona gets to know who Annie is now, and doesn’t want to know her? What if she sees all the ways Annie has changed, the scars, the bruises, all the ways the Games chewed her up and spit her out, and decides it’s all too much for her to handle? Fiona was forced to grow up too fast when their mother died and she doesn’t deserve to have this added on. Annie wouldn’t blame her if she took one look at who Annie has become and walked away for good. It’s easier to keep her at a distance, to keep her from seeing the depth of Annie’s pain.

Annie is lost in thought as she and Finnick walk back towards her house, but if he notices a difference he doesn’t say anything. She turns Mags’s words over in her mind, weighing the feeling of how badly she needs her sister with the fear that in opening up to her, she’ll lose her for good. Distracted, she says goodbye to Finnick and takes the steps to the house, slowly pushing the door open and stepping inside.

“Fi?” Annie calls in a soft voice as she closes the door behind her. She hears noise from the kitchen and follows the sound, finding her sister at the table, a mug of tea between her hands as she stares out the window. Annie sets the plate of rolls she brought back from Mags’s house down on the table and Fiona jumps, snapping her head around to meet Annie’s eyes.

“Oh,” Fiona says. “I didn’t hear you get home.”

Annie hovers awkwardly, part of her wanting to step back and escape to her bedroom, but instead she pulls out a chair and sits across from Fiona, taking the length of rope from her pocket and twisting it through her fingers as her eyes dart around the room. A hundred different things to say cross her mind but fall silent on her tongue as she agonizes over how to bridge the gap between them.

“I miss you,” Annie says finally, feeling how true the words are as they cross her lips. Fiona looks up at her, surprised, and her brows knit in concern.

“I’m right here,” Fiona tells her, reaching out as if to take Annie’s hand but stopping herself, leaving her hand laying flat on the table between them. 

“I know,” Annie says, tears filling her eyes as she tries to find the words she wants to say. “But I’ve been shutting you out,” she says hesitantly, looking down at the frayed rope in her hands. “I don’t want to do that anymore.” Her words fall heavy between them and she glances up to see Fiona holding back tears.

“Oh,” Fiona says in a wobbly voice, wiping at her eyes. “Annie, I’m sorry,” she says earnestly, leaning forward. “I feel like I haven’t been there for you when you needed me. I didn’t know what to do and I think I just…” She trails off, her tears flowing faster now. “I should have tried harder.”

Annie shakes her head, feeling her eyes prick with tears as she watches her sister cry. “I’m sorry,” she says softly, “I needed time.”

Fiona shakes her head, fixing Annie with a fierce look that she recognizes from all the times Fiona stood up for her when they were younger. “No,” she says firmly, “you have nothing to apologize for. You are here, you are alive, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Annie reaches her hand out tentatively and places it over Fiona’s where hers still lies on the table. “Still,” she says, swallowing over the lump in her throat. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

“Annie,” Fiona says, lacing their fingers together and squeezing Annie’s hand tightly. “You are my sister, and I love you. There’s nothing you could do that could change that.”

Annie lets the tears flow now, realizing that was all she needed to hear Fiona say. She’d been so worried that her sister wouldn’t want to know her anymore, would think of her as a burden, a problem to be solved, that hearing her say nothing could change the way she feels almost convinces Annie that nothing has changed. She wipes at her eyes with her free hand and gives Fiona a watery smile, too overwhelmed to speak.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Fiona says gently, “But if you do want to talk about it, we can. You don’t have to worry about upsetting me, or scaring me, or anything like that.”

Annie nods, still not trusting her voice to stay steady enough to speak. She looks down at the rope in her lap and remembers Finnick’s advice, to replace the bad memories with the good ones.

“Will you come to the beach with me someday?” Annie asks, feeling strangely shy asking her sister to do something they had done together every day since they were children. “I need…” she pauses, unsure how much she wants her sister to know. “I need good memories,” she says hesitantly. 

Fiona squeezes her hand and nods. “Of course,” she answers sincerely. “Anything you need.” 

Annie gives her a weak smile, feeling like a weight has lifted from her chest at this small step forward. They sit together, the silence not quite as comfortable as it used to be but better than it’s been since she returned from the arena. Annie doesn’t feel the need to hide away and instead focuses on breathing deeply, letting her sister’s words sink in. Fiona watches her closely, but Annie doesn’t see the disappointment and fear she thought she would see in her sister’s eyes. She looks up and sees concern, love, and a flicker of understanding in Fiona’s face and feels the distance between them grow smaller.

“Can I ask you something?” Fiona says after some time, a mischievous smile growing on her face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what is happening with you and Finnick Odair?” 

Annie laughs, surprising herself, and Fiona joins in, their giggles rising in volume until neither of them can remember why they’re laughing in the first place. It reminds Annie of before, when the two of them would talk for hours, sharing inside jokes and laughing until they gasped for air, tears streaming down their cheeks. Suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, she stands up and throws her arms around her sister, squeezing her in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” Annie whispers, her voice muffled in Fiona’s hair. Fiona squeezes her back and says nothing, but Annie can feel everything she wants to say in her embrace. 

\--

Gradually, Annie feels herself getting stronger. Nighttime is still the hardest part - during the day she can distract herself by going for walks, spending time with Fiona, Finnick, or Mags, but at night there’s little she can do to keep the nightmares at bay. She wakes one night with a strangled cry, breathing heavily as the familiar sound of water and screams rushes in her ears, the image of her district partner’s blood dripping to the ground appearing every time she closes her eyes. Unable to shake the memory, she throws her blankets back and steps to the floor, letting her feet lead her out the door and onto the lane before she realizes what she’s doing. 

She follows the path to the beach, her feet settled into their familiar routine as she wraps her arms around herself, her breath coming in sharp gasps and strangled screams echoing in her ears. She gets to the beach and collapses into the sand, folding in on herself and trying to breathe with the waves, grasping at the sand beneath her to try and pull herself out of the nightmare. The sand beside her shifts and she jumps, whipping her head around to see Finnick standing above her, a blanket in his hands and an apologetic look on his face.

He lowers himself into the sand and hands her the blanket, but she doesn’t move to take it, her mind still in the arena and unable to focus on him being there. “I saw you leave your house,” he says quietly, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. Annie realizes she’s shivering and she clutches the blanket around her tightly, feeling its warmth as she struggles to focus on Finnick’s face in the moonlight. “I don’t sleep much,” he adds, as if talking to himself.

He looks out over the water and Annie follows his gaze, noticing the reflection of the stars and the moon as they ripple on the water, their images distorted with every wave. She looks up at the vast expanse of stars, her eyes searching for familiar constellations as she lets the sound of the ocean fill her mind, slowly drowning out her nightmare. She glances next to her and sees Finnick looking up at the stars too, an expression like wonder on his face. 

“There’s Polaris,” Finnick says quietly, pointing to a star burning brightly over their heads. “That’s how we find north. And then next to it,” he moves his hand to one side and Annie follows, filling in the lines between the stars, “the Big Dipper. And on the other side-” 

“Cassiopeia,” Annie breathes, reaching out a hand to map the constellation with her finger.

“Mmhm,” Finnick hums in agreement, giving her a small smile.

“Do you know the story?” Annie asks quietly, her eyes tracing the familiar shape as she remembers sitting on the docks with her mother and listening to her tell stories about the stars, before her father left and her mother disappeared into a bottle.

“No,” Finnick answers, and Annie glances over at him before looking back at the sky. The stories her mother told were old, passed down to her through the years and preserved in her family’s memory, though the stories had been lost to most other people in District Four. During the Dark Days, the Capitol forbade that sort of storytelling, not wanting the rebels to get any ideas about passing secret information disguised as fairy tales. Annie’s great-grandmother told stories in secret, passing them on to her children, and her children did the same, and so on, until Annie’s mother shared them with her and Fiona, holding a finger to her lips as she made them promise to keep them secret, to only share them with people who could be trusted. Annie thinks of them whenever she wants to remember the simpler times, before her family fell apart and her mother twisted into someone she didn't recognize.

“She was a beautiful queen,” Annie says softly, hearing the echo of her mother’s voice in her own, “and she boasted that she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs that protected the sea. The nymphs were angry and asked the King of the sea to punish Cassiopeia for her vanity, so he sent a monster, the whale,” she pauses and searches the sky for the cluster of stars that makes the shape of a whale, pointing to it when she finds it, “to torment her kingdom. Cassiopeia had to sacrifice her daughter to the monster to please the King and so she tied her to a rock for the monster to find. At the last minute, her daughter was saved from the monster by a passing sailor and she married him, but a fight broke out at the wedding and Cassiopeia was killed. The King cast her into the stars, but as punishment for her vanity she circles the sky and spends half the year upside down.” Annie falls quiet, letting her hand drop into the sand as she takes in the vast expanse of the stars, feeling as if her ancestors are speaking to her through them, telling her tales of heroes and tragedy, of larger-than-life figures who fought in the stars and will outlive all of them from their palace in the sky. She almost forgets Finnick is there until he speaks, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“My father used to know some of the stories,” he says quietly, the moon reflecting off his eyes. “I wish I’d asked him about them.”

Annie watches his face fall into shadow as a cloud crosses the moon and feels a pang of loss for him. “I can tell them to you,” she says softly, remembering her mother’s voice telling her to hold the stories close, to only share them with people who would understand their magnitude. She feels closer to Finnick than ever in that moment, the darkness allowing him to let his guard down in a way he never seems to be able to do in the daylight.

“I’d like that,” he answers, eyes still focused on the sky above him. 

Annie smiles to herself and turns her eyes skyward, all traces of the nightmare that drove her to the beach forgotten. 

After that night, she feels more comfortable seeking Finnick out at night, quickly realizing that he’s almost always awake. She feels a twinge of concern for him, wondering when he gets rest, but she keeps herself from asking. She knows what keeps her up at night, and she knows he has his fair share of nightmares to avoid. So, they walk to the beach together, sometimes sitting on the sand in silence until they doze off to the sound of the waves, other times laying back and watching the sky.

Finnick tells her how to navigate by the stars and Annie listens closely as he talks about his father mapping their courses in the night sky, aware that she’s seeing a side of him he has closed off to the rest of the world and feeling honored that he wants to share it with her. She fills him in on the stories her mother taught her, monsters and heroes and fallen gods who live on in the night sky. Something passes between them during these nights and she finds herself wishing she could slow down the sunrise to have more time with Finnick under the light of the moon. 

One morning Annie returns home after the sunrise to find Fiona waiting for her in the kitchen, two mugs of tea set on the table. She takes a seat across from her, accepting the mug with a grateful smile, and watches her sister. Fiona has the look on her face that she always does when she has an opinion about something, and Annie waits patiently for her to say what’s on her mind. 

“Annie,” Fiona starts, frowning slightly as if debating how to say what she wants to say. “You don’t have to say yes, or say anything right away, but…” Annie feels a flash of panic as she wonders where her sister is going. “Can I meet Finnick some time?” Annie blinks, the unexpected question catching her off guard. “I mean, I know I’ve met him, but you spend a lot of time together and I thought it would be nice if I got to know him too. Because I’m your sister, and he’s your… Friend,” she says haltingly, watching Annie closely for a reaction.

Annie hesitates, part of her selfishly wanting to keep Finnick to herself, to safeguard the vulnerable side of him that she’s come to know. She feels she’s gotten to know him well enough to see the differences in how he acts around different people and she worries that bringing Fiona into the mix will make him retreat behind his mask and that she’ll lose the person she’s come to know. As she meets Fiona’s gaze, Annie softens. It’s Fiona. Not someone from the Capitol, or someone in the Games, but her sister. She and Finnick are two of the most important people in her life, something that stuns her to realize, and it makes sense that Fiona would want to know him.

“I think that would be nice,” Annie says, watching relief fill Fiona’s face as she smiles and takes a sip of her tea. 

“No pressure, though,” Fiona tells her, “Whenever you both are ready.” Annie nods, resolving to bring it up to Finnick the next time she sees him. 

Finnick is thrilled to spend time with Fiona, of course, and before she knows it Annie finds herself walking to the beach with both of them as Fiona chatters excitedly about the vegetable garden she wants to plant in front of their house in the spring. Annie catches Finnick’s eye and shrugs, silently communicating to him that this is what he gets with Fiona. He keeps up conversation with her and Annie is pleased to see he doesn’t slip back into his mask, letting Fiona see the humble, thoughtful, caring Finnick she’s come to know since the Games ended. 

They walk along the beach, Annie and Fiona both stopping to pick up shells and seaglass along the way, and Annie feels a rush of contentment as they watch the waves crash into the shore. It’s a feeling she didn’t think she could find again and she tries to memorize everything about the moment, tucking it away in the back of her mind for safekeeping so she can recall the memory the next time the pain of the arena threatens to pull her back under. 

This may not be the life Annie had planned, but it’s the one she has now. She knows it won’t be easy, knows there will be days when the memories are too strong to fight, but she feels a glimmer of hope that it won’t always be this way. She looks at Fiona, and Finnick, and feels the hope in her chest grow stronger, knowing that she isn’t going through this alone. She has her sister back, her unconditional love there to fall back on when everything gets too much. She has Finnick, whatever he is to her, and she knows she would’ve given up long ago if it wasn’t for him. Annie turns her gaze to the horizon and lets the expanse of ocean fill her vision, closing her eyes to feel the warm sun on her skin and hear the rush of waves, letting the sound fill her with a quiet peace as she thinks how lucky she is to be alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Annie is a character that really fascinates me because we don’t see a lot of her in the original trilogy, but what we do see/learn points to such an interesting character that I wish we could get some sort of prequel about her. 
> 
> Some of these scenes are also part of we were meant to stay afloat or coming up for air (the other parts in this series) but for those I tried to give a different spin or a deeper look at them instead of just copying them over. I didn't want to plagiarize myself too much lol. The myth of Cassiopeia is pretty close to the real one, but modified a bit to account for it being an oral tradition.
> 
> Also because I love picking songs for this pairing, the moment where Annie finally goes to the ocean was inspired by the song [Lucky](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5y8HVM5g-WU) by AURORA.


End file.
